


'Cause Baby, When the Lights Go Out

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Kissing, M/M, Sex in the Dark, Smoking, Talking, Undressing, bit of a pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: An unabashed PWP which involves our darling couple coming back to their hotel suite after a meal with the crew. Giorgio can't get the electricity to work and the lights are out - the room is shrouded in darkness."Andr--," he was cut short by a kiss to his lips. It was extremely dark, and he couldn't see a thing, let alone anything other than the silhouette of his partner, but - nonetheless - he closed his eyes as he reciprocated the kiss. It seemed only right.





	'Cause Baby, When the Lights Go Out

**Author's Note:**

> Italian phrases beta'd by the wonderful Mcicioni - thank you x
> 
> *~*~*~*
> 
> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

"I can'a never get these _bastard_ things to work," Giorgio mumbled, fumbling with the hotel key-card. He'd succeeded in opening the door, but getting the electricity to come on was a different story, especially seeing as a few alcoholic beverages were involved. Dining out with the crew was always fun as, for once, he did not have to cook himself, but he always found himself either _critical_ of others' cooking, or _intrigued_ when it came to their choice of ingredients - he could never _truly_ switch off his chef's brain, and drinking helped him to relax. 

He turned to Andrew, who had remained silent, hoping that the older man may have a better way with technology. "Hey man," he held out the card, "Any idea how'a to get da lights on?"

Strangely, Andrew said nothing and the card still sat limply between Giorgio's thumb and forefinger. He decided to put it back into the slot and then shrugged, waiting for a response. Instead, he felt warm hands exploring his shoulders, then downwards to his chest and moving in circular motions, caressing the skin through his shirt. Giorgio stumbled backwards in surprise and was met with the cool hard plaster of the wall, and the socket for the key-card jammed into his back. He winced and audibly too. But he wasn't exactly upset or afraid - merely _shocked_ \- though Andrew mistook the outcry for concern.

"Don't fight it," he allayed his fears with a hushed and soothing voice. He whispered, closer to his ear, "We were _made_ for this - you and I..."

Giorgio stifled a moan but Andrew, who was so _physically_ close, could hear it, and interpreted it as permission to proceed. Hoisting his friend's backside with his hands, he pulled their bodies together and positioned them so that their chests were parallel and their racing heartbeats were now beating as one. They were both nervous - this much was _obvious_ \- but Graham-Dixon was making all the moves here and Giorgio had no choice but to lie back against the wall of the pillar and be helpless to his mercy, his objections feeble.

"Andr--," he was cut short by a kiss to his lips. It was extremely dark, and he couldn't see a thing, let alone _anything_ other than the silhouette of his partner, but - nonetheless - he closed his eyes as he reciprocated the kiss. It seemed only right. And he felt powerless under the weight and warmth of a man he had grown to love and admire, and _yes_ , perhaps _more_ , as a tongue forced him to part his lips and allow the historian to kiss him fully. After so many seconds without air, they parted and Andrew gasped, "We don't need to analyse this. It is what it is."

Andrew could _sense_ the questions on the tip of Giorgio's tongue - he knew the workings of his incessant mind. It never stopped whirring. Everything had to have an _answer_ and, _right now_ , he didn't want to get into the whys and hows and whats, of whether they were bi-curious or simply confused or what their wives might think of it all. In all honesty, _right now_ , Andrew couldn't see very much beyond his own lust. But the man on the receiving end of his affections nodded in agreement. Hearing Giorgio's quiet words of encouragement - "Yes...  _Yes, Andrea_..." - the Englishman began to fall to his knees. As he heard his co-host blurt, "Avanti!" - _Go on_ \- he sank to the floor, hands grasping into the the fabric of Locatelli's trousers to steady himself.

Soon, a shirt was untucked - Giorgio managed that himself - as much of a daze as he was in. Then the belt was off and the trousers were down. Gently stroking his partner's skin, goose-pimpled from nervousness, the art historian couldn't help but _marvel_ at how smooth Locatelli's legs were, and then again, his chest - as he'd expected a Southern European man to be undoubtedly more hirsute. But there was not a complaint to be made - in Andrew's mind, Giorgio felt wonderful from the bottom to the top. And his cock was rock hard and ready to be sucked, knocking needily against the older man's cheek as he stripped him of his underwear.

The chef was slightly embarrassed of looking too desperate. He laughed, bashfully, "Italian men are _always_ 'orny, Andrew - don't doubt it."

Andrew didn't reply. Instead, he flattened his tongue and ran it along the underside of Giorgio's erection, finding his way eventually to the end and rolling his tongue hungrily around the slit. If there was one way to provoke a reaction from a _horny Italian_ , that _had_ to be the way. Gently pulling back the foreskin, he could finally devour the cock head properly and he tried so desperately to _suck_ and _lick_ the tip simultaneously. All the while, he slowly worked the stiff penis, loosely running his grasp over the shaft.

"Fuck," there was a hiss from above. Andrew could only assume he was doing a _good_ job, focussing on everything he thought he might like to have done to _himself_. With his left hand, he cradled Giorgio's balls and began to tighten around them as much as a man's pain threshold would allow - the last thing he wanted to do was cause discomfort. But it appeared that Locatelli liked it a little _rougher_ than he might have expected, he realised, when the younger man rasped through ragged breaths, "Harder... harder and faster, Andrew." And he could only _oblige_.

He continued to massage his balls, with a stronger grip, and began to wank his cock with more purpose - with an intention to finish him off. He would occasionally pause to engulf the member in his mouth, too tempted by the taste of his friend's juices, already seeping from the slit, to go too long without sucking his dick. Graham-Dixon felt Locatelli's hands lovingly sliding over his shoulders, fingers slightly skimming the sensitive skin of his neck and making him _shudder_ as they found his silver hair, scrunching into fists and guiding his head and mouth in the right direction. The cock bobbed out of Andrew's mouth only when he could no longer _breathe_ , and he so resumed in simply _masturbating_ Giorgio.

"Piú svelto!" there was a shrill cry. _Faster_. And when he was pumped faster and faster, Giorgio could feel that his legs were beginning to wobble furiously and that the end was clearly nigh. "I can'a 'old back," he whined. Andrew dodged to one side, not wanting to have one of his best suits completely destroyed, and/or sent to his local dry cleaners covered in semen stains - it would have been a quite a  _bugger_ to explain. Besides which, nothing quite turned Andrew on more than what he knew was to come - Giorgio's cock shooting ejaculate across the floor and wall in several forceful spurts.

Locatelli sighed, standing there in the same spot for a minute or so, the encounter having him totally bewildered. He then slumped back against the wall, once again landing rather painfully on the card slot for the room key-card. Only this time, something in the mechanism must have sparked because, all of a sudden, the room was filled with light and the electricity was working.

"Well, fucking _hell_ ," he smirked, realising that he had been doing nothing wrong after all. But Graham-Dixon was nowhere to be seen within the room. Adjusting his eyes to the brightness, Giorgio realised that Andrew was on the suite's balcony, lighting up a smoke. He hadn't even heard the _door_ open. Gosh, that Andrew was a _sly_ one - in more ways than one.

"Is there an 'andsome man out here?" he grinned, sliding the glass door open. But Andrew was surprisingly unforthcoming. He glanced back at Giorgio and smiled, sheepishly, and quickly turned away. "I think I could do with one of those," the chef pointed to the packet of cigarettes which rested atop the balustrade and signalled for his friend to give him one. If anything, Giorgio thought, Andrew would have to look him in the _eye_ as he lit it for him, and _that_ he did - but he could barely hold his gaze. "So what's up wit' you?" he questioned, taking a drag, "Are you upset I didn'a return the favour? Because you 'ad gone before I even--"

"No," Andrew shook his head, "No... it's not that. It's just that I... shouldn't have pushed you into it like that." He inhaled a large breath of nicotine and blew out a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere, looking out onto the beautiful city beneath. "It's not like me. It must have been the drink. I can't handle it sometimes. I tell them 'no' and they pour me another glass."

"But Andrew," cigarette in-hand, Giorgio waited until Andrew turned to him so that he was able to cup his face with the other. "I liked it," came the confirmation. "Mi piaci," he whispered, sensually. _I like you._ He flipped the cigarette.

"I've been bottling up these feelings for years," the Englishman confessed, something that could not be truer for _anyone_ than an uptight Englishman. He again avoided Locatelli's gaze and preferred to look down onto the city.

"Andrea," Giorgio said, finally stubbing out his tab end and reaching out to wrap his arm around the other man, as friends at the very least. "It was always obvious, man," he told him, "But I'a never knew 'ow much I wanted it 'til tonight."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Come on," Andrew began to laugh. "We're going to get bit to death out here."

" _Oooh_ ," Giorgio cooed, gently taking the cigarette from Andrew's hand and throwing it out into the great beyond. "With any luck," his arm still wrapped around his colleague, he breathed into his ear, softly growling and tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, "With any _luck_ , man."


End file.
